“For what purpose?”
“I don’t know. I thought there was no Duchess of Glastonbury at first. But the more I find out, the more obscure it all becomes. Sir Gawaine doesn’t even know why the brooch began being sent out, it appears, to the king’s distant relatives. It was made to find him. They have only recently discovered that it was tampered with by Arthur himself. I say, if he wants to be left alone so badly, leave him be.”
“Where is the brooch now?”
“The knights likely have it.”
“The knights. How many are there?
“Six. Gawaine, Kay, Lucan, Agravaine, Erec, and Sagramore.”
Michael didn’t care about their names. “How do we get to this realm they’re on? We can take six.”
Simeon laughed. In fact, he doubled over. “We couldn’t takeoneof them. Do you hear me, young man? Not one. And besides, I can’t take you anywhere with me. The curse doesn’t work that way. I can do nothing to alter time.”
“Just my being here is altering it,” Michael pointed out.
“But I didn’t bring you here. The king’s brooch did.”
“So how was Miss Lancaster able to return if she wanted to?”
“Sir Gawaine brought the brooch to her to send her back. She’d been talking about future events and could have been responsible for Henry Tudor not becoming king.”
“But she didn’t.” Michael knew enough about history and the War of the Roses in fifteenth century England. Henry Tudor won the war.
“She talked a lot. They were afraid of her altering the slightest thing.”
“So I have to almost alter something to get Sir Gawaine back here to take me home.”
“If that is what you truly want. From what I heard, you were at the end of your rope with life, drowning your sorrows in whiskey.”
Michael couldn’t deny it, but it was love that had led him to that dark place. More accurately, the loss of love. He loved and lost his brother, Clements, Kelly, his hope in mankind. All taken in violence. He lost his love for humanity. He lost his heart, and his soul. He never thought he could get any of it back again. He felt as good as dead. But recently—he looked toward the entrance of the stable—toward the house—for the last day or so, he felt the stirrings of life in him.
Could he find Michael Pendragon here? He shook his head. He didn’t want to. He was safer this way. Sure, he remembered everything the police therapist had told him. He should step out, trust that he would be okay, blah, blah. He didn’t want to. Weren’t you supposed to want to? He wanted to stay detached. Yeah, the booze helped him forget, most of the time.
She appeared at the entrance as if his thoughts had summoned her. He smiled almost instinctually. Another thing he hadn’t done in ages.
“What are you doing in here?” came her dulcet voice, her well-practiced smile illuminated by the lantern she held up to her face.
“Lady Charlotte, this is Mr. Roldan Simeon. He—”
“Who? Michael, there is no one there.”
Chapter Thirteen
He spun around.No one was there. He was alone, but Charlotte did note the two stools.
“You know what this is?” Michael raked his fingers through his hair. “He can disappear. He travels—man, I know how this sounds, Charlotte.”
“He’s like Mr. Clements,” she offered, trying to be helpful.
“No. This guy is real flesh and blood. He’s hiding. Simeon, show yourself!”
“Michael, I think you should let me get you back to the house and to your bed.” It would be perfect if he would just follow her, too drunk—as he clearly was—to think straight. If she could get him to bed, he would forget about John deVille and finding him in the dark. He had no idea who he might run into. Perhaps the same men who beat him over the head the first time.
“I want to prove to you that I’m not nuts. Simeon!”
She corked her ear with her finger. “Come now, you are frightening the horses.”
